


when the sun goes down

by buckgaybarnes



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Back-Alley Sex, Frottage, M/M, PWP, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, handjobs, i'm a depraved individual and i don't know how to tag this with anything other than Unrepentant Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2100486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckgaybarnes/pseuds/buckgaybarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Steve knows this is a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when the sun goes down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [evanstans (sorrylovebut)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylovebut/gifts).



> inspired by me lamenting the lack of steve/bucky back alley sex fics and then realizing a second later that my grasp of the english language enabled me to write one myself  
> title from the arctic monkeys song b/c im sleep deprived and i literally scrolled through my ipod to find something  
> for alex b/c she's the best

The thing is, Steve knows this is a bad idea.

Which is surprising; contrary to popular belief, it's Steve—not Bucky—who tends to make rash, spur of the moment descisions that usually end in trouble for one or both of them. If _Steve_ thinks it's a bad idea, it's almost definitely a bad idea.

They'd gone out to a bar earlier that night to celebrate the raise that Bucky had gotten at his job at the diner down the road from their apartment; it's nice to not worry about being too crippingly low on money, even if if is for a night. Or if they only have enough for one or two beers apiece. It's enough, more than enough, for them.

They're walking back home, tipsy enough to be stumbling over their words and their feet a little but not nearly enough to be hanging over each other as much as they are, and Bucky suddenly stops. They're still a few blocks away from their apartment and it's February and Steve is freezing even under two jackets (Bucky having forced his on Steve the second they stepped out of the bar). "What gives?" he asks, frowning at Bucky, and Bucky makes a point of checking to make sure there's no one else around them on the dark street before ducking into an empty alleyway on their right, taking Steve along with him.

Steve knows what's on Bucky's mind even before Bucky presses him up against the wall, mouth hot and insistent and hands wandering, and Steve shivers from something entirely other than the weather now. It's a terrible idea, a really terrible one, and it's not that they haven't done this before but it's always been in the secrecy of their apartment where curtains can be drawn and noises muffled by pillows or fists or walls. The only semblance of privacy they have here is offered to them by the night and the shadows of the surrounding buildings and the dumpster that's just blocking them from the view of the street. Someone could walk in on them at any moment, Steve knows this, and he knows this is a dumb, terrible idea but it doesn't stop him from moaning helplessly when Bucky works his knee between Steve's thighs and mouths at his jawline.

"Steve," Bucky breathes, rough and low, and Steve feels him speak more than hears him. "Steve, I want," he punctuates his unfinished sentence with a bite to the hint of collarbone that's peeking out of the collar of Steve's shirt. Steve nods fervently, not even caring what he's agreeing to. He'd give Bucky anything, he'd give him his whole damn life, _has_ given him his whole damn life.

This is a terrible idea, and if someone decides to look down the alleyway they'd be caught in a heartbeat, but both jackets are pulled off Steve's shoulders and Bucky is fumbling quickly with the buttons on Steve's shirt and he's started leaving sloppy kisses up and down his throat as he works. "Steve," he says again, like a mantra, a prayer, and there's enough reverence in his eyes when he looks down at Steve that Steve is starting to believe it _is_ a prayer.

It's cold out, very cold out, the brick wall he's pressed against not helping matters, and when Bucky finally undos the last button on Steve's shirt Steve's teeth are chattering. The chill is chased off seconds later, though, by Bucky's hands, warm and calloused, as he explores and maps out Steve's chest with his fingers as though he hadn't charted it countless times before. Steve rocks down against Bucky's thigh, making little moaning sighs that Bucky immediately swoops down to capture with his mouth. Bucky is hard, too, and Steve palms the front of Bucky's trousers with one hand and slides down one of his suspender straps with the other.

Bucky bites down on Steve's lip and makes a keening noise, hips chanting forwards to chase the friction. "Please," he sighs, begs, and Steve wishes desperately to capture the red of Bucky's kiss-bitten lips, the blown darkness of his pupils, but his paints and pencils are at the apartment and he and Bucky are in an alleyway. They're in a dark and dirty alleyway and Steve knew that if he asked, Bucky would let him fuck him up against the damp stone wall. Would beg him to fuck him up against the damp stone wall. And he wants to, he _would_ and they may be able to get away with it at home but there's no mattress here to muffle how vocal Bucky can get when Steve is—

"Bucky," he says, "Jesus," because Bucky has gotten tired of waiting and is fumbling with Steve's fly and moving against his leg with a frantic need that Steve usually only sees when Bucky's trying to soothe him through a coughing fit. He didn't realize how hard he'd been, too, until Bucky has blessedly gotten a hand under the waistband of Steve's briefs and Steve is straining against his palm. Bucky's jacking him off, fast the way he knows Steve likes it, and Steve forgets how to breathe but not in the unwelcome way. He has enough coherence left to rock up the thigh that's trapped between Bucky's against the outline of his hard-on and Bucky moans.

"Stevie," he whimpers. His movements around Steve's cock quicken and Steve throws out a hand to brace himself against the wall. Bucky's rutting hard against his leg and he drops his forehead to Steve's shoulder, panting. "Steve, baby," and Steve should hate the petname, he really should, but Bucky twists his hand just right and he forgets to protest. Bucky's hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat and he's mumbling stuff like _yes_ and _sweetheart_ and _love you so much_ into Steve's skin while his hips and his hand move obscenely. It's not a prayer, it can't be a prayer, because no prayer has ever sounded as beautiful or as _filthy_ as this. Steve thinks it's probably blasphemous to think of prayer right now, but it's hard not to when Bucky is worshipping him with his words and his lips like he is.

Steve doesn't know how he deserves this, deserves Bucky, or if he'll ever know how, and he feels heat pooling in his stomach far too quickly. "Bucky," he gasps, thrusting up into Bucky's hand. "I'm—"

"Come on," Bucky urges him, and his hand around Steve's cock goes harder, impossibly faster. "Come on, baby." He bites down on Steve's shoulder and Steve's done for, hips jerking erratically as he comes all over Bucky's fist and the front of his shirt and he thinks vaguely it's going to pain to clean it afterwards. The back of his head hits the wall and Bucky grinds down hard on Steve's leg, making a small muffled whimper and shuddering a bit when he comes a few seconds later.

It's Bucky who recovers first, taking his hand out of Steve's pants and wiping it on the hem of his own (probably ruined) shirt. He looks as debauched as Steve feels, shirt untucked and suspenders hanging half-off and hair mussed, and Steve is suddenly filled with possessive gratefulness that no one but him gets to see Bucky like this.

Steve is still trying to catch his breath, though, and Bucky kisses his temple. "Easy, Stevie," he murmurs, gently trying to coax him through it.

Steve shoves him a little and tries to glare."I'm fine," he insists, but Bucky has a dopey smile on his face and Steve can't help but reflect it on his own. Bucky winds his arms around Steve's waist, pulling him close, and Steve wishes they could stay like this forever.

The reality of where they are hits him a second later, though. "Buck," he says. Bucky's head is drooped forward on his shoulder again, and Steve rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Bucky, we gotta go home." Bucky makes a small noise of protest but gives in, helping Steve adjust his clothing and taking care to do up each button on his shirt. There's no helping Bucky's shirt or the front of his pants, though, and they're lucky it's the middle of the night and the darkness will hide almost everything.

Bucky kisses the top of his head before they duck out of the alleyway, and Steve blushes even though it's probably ridiculous of him. "I figured," Bucky begins, answering the question Steve didn't ask. Even though the street is deserted there's no such thing as being too careful, and when he speaks again his voice is lower. "I figured you need at least one alleyway in Brooklyn you can look at and remember somethin' other than gettin' beat up."

Steve rolls his eyes and elbows Bucky in the side. It's all he can do to prevent himself from doing something stupid like dragging the big lug back into the alley and kissing him all over again. If when Bucky elbows him back a second later and calls him a little punk and Steve replies with a not ungentle shoulder bump and his usual _jerk_ what they really mean is _I love you_ , well. No one but them has to know.

As far as ideas go, _maybe_ Steve will admit this one wasn't too terrible.

**Author's Note:**

> this is what i choose to do with my life  
> but hey hmu on twitter @buckgaybarnes


End file.
